The House Always Wins
by HenriettaDarlington
Summary: An obnoxious goth gambles for their life against the Boogieman. They get away, but not cleanly. Oogie Boogie/OC


Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Nightmare Before Christmas or any related franchise.

Content Warning: Dubious Consent, Soft Vore

* * *

In eighties zombie flicks there's always that group of assholes who like to spend the night hanging out in cursed cemeteries. They sit around, neck, and drink absinthe while a very cinematic full moon shines down from behind hazy clouds. After some crowd pleasing nudity the monster of the picture would show up to take a chunk out of some poor sucker's calve.

Growing up you always thought that those movies were completely unrealistic. No one but a total freak would would fuck their boyfriend on the steps of mausoleums like the girls always did in those movies. Even discounting handsy zombies, marble wasn't the most forgiving surface to get pounded on.

Such was the sum of your feelings on the matter until you grew into the exact type of freak who liked to hang around cemeteries at night. Deep down you felt like a tad of a hypocrite, but it turned out that cold fall nights really were as atmospheric as Dance of the Dead claimed.

Shucks, was your face red on that one.

So there you were, spending another chilly weekday night loitering in a cemetery. You and your awful friends were huddled in a circle telling ghost stories and drinking box wine you had bought for three bucks off the back of a truck. Everyone was appropriately dressed in oversized band shirts and heavy eyeliner. Your own shirt, displaying an orgy of violence, was paired with short-shorts and red tights. You looked hot as fuck, even if you were kind of freezing It was shaping up to be a pretty bitchin' night.

"And written on the mirror in the dog's blood was," A dramatic pause, "'Humans can lick too'!"

Okay, so the stories left something to be desired, but you didn't really mind. You had not been expecting the Crypt Keeper when you came out tonight.

You relaxed at the feet of an enormous stone angel, sipping on a drink that tasted like facial astringent. "I've got one."

"Let's hear it," Said your shitty ex. They had told the old Babysitter-Clown-Statue Story and done a terrible job at it.

You set your cup down and cracked your knuckles. "So, this happened to my aunt's friend Shirley during like, the sixties or something. She wore her hair in one of those big beehives, right? So, my aunt and Shirley had been cleaning out my aunt's attic together the day before and were supposed to meet up for brunch. The next day comes and Shirley shows up looking like shit, super pasty and wobbling all over the place. They get halfway through their mimosas when bam!" You smack your hands together for emphasis. "She's knocked out in her french toast. She gets rushed to the hospital and once the doctors take down her hair, can you guess what they see?"

"Dander?" Guessed your shitty ex..

You stuck your tongue out. "Her scalps just a mass of spider bites. Looked like someone had tried to give her a tattoo with a knitting needle. Turns out a spider laid its eggs in Shirley's hair when they were cleaning and they hatched. They tried to eat all the way to her brain."

Some of your friends were unimpressed while others were suitably grossed out, but the girl directly across from you was ready to barf.

You wiggled your fingers in a spider-y sort of way. "Make sure to brush your hair."

It wasn't until she pointed over your shoulder that you realised she was not looking directly at you.

Another thing didn't realize actually existed where groundskeeper. You thought they had been made up by The Simpsons and just really caught on. During your last few years worth of night time sojourns into the crypts you've learned that they were not the legend you once thought and they really did hate the kinds of kids who screwed around in their cemeteries. You were face to overall clad kneecap with a man holding a pitchfork and there was only one thing you could say.

"Fuck!" You should have said run, but it was a spur of the moment thing.

Right before he swiped at you, you dropped into a lunge and took off running. Leaping over headstones and skidding across dewy grass you tried to remember the way to the gates from you usual skulking spot. In your panic you had sprinted in the wrong direction. You were further in than you had ever gone before. Most of the gravestones were worn to nubs, but the few still legible had dates from the seventeen hundreds.

Your plans hit the wall about the same time you slammed hands first into the brick fence surrounding the cemetery. At the sound of encroaching footsteps you ducked for cover inside a mausoleum with a door that was hanging off its hinges.

Breath held, you waited for whoever would stumble upon you. That breath was rapidly exhaled when you watched the girl who had first pointed out the groundskeeper run nose first into the wall.

You didn't have time to gawk, because sound of footfalls didn't stop. Throwing your arms around her stumbling figure you jerked the other girl into your hiding spot.

The two of you stood in silence while the groundskeeper ran past you. He was still on the hunt.

Once the danger was gone, she slumped against the wall. She rubbed her face and lisped, "Thankth"

"What are friends for?" You replied, desperately trying to remember her name.

"Thtill, thankth."

"No problem-o."

The pair of you were silent. It was something along the lines of Courtney, maybe?

"I have a quethtion."

"Shoot." Kim? Jade? Laura?

"Did that thing with the thpiderth really happen?"

She looked like the kind of girl who changed her name to Raven during the second semester of sophomore year. "Nah, bugs don't like people any more than we like them. They don't want something moving around and giving their eggs shaken baby syndrome or something."

"Oh that'th good," She sighed. Maybe it was something old-school like Agatha or Bathsheba and that's why you couldn't remember.

"That's why spider wasps paralyze the hosts before they lay their eggs."

She shoved you, grimacing. "Ugh, that'th tho grothth."

You would have replied with something along the lines of calling her face so gross, but when you stumbled back your foot flailed in empty air. You didn't even have time to swear before you tumbled backwards into a six foot long hole.

Thankfully, you had plenty of time while you fell.

"OH, FIST ME!" You screeched into the whipping wind of the seemingly bottomless hole. Your eyes watered, outstretched roots catching your sides and tugged at your hair.

Then suddenly the world flipped. You were dropping up. You flew out of the hole like a shot from a cannon, somersaulting out onto wet grass.

"Literally penetrate my soul." You mumbled into the earth.

You sat up and spat out dirt. This was not the cemetery you knew.

The tombstones jutted jauntily above you head. All the sad angels had been replaced by snarling gargoyles. The statues all had taken on a very Edvard Munch vibe. A massive hill twisted oddly, spiralling in under itself and making your head hurt.

"What kind of non-euclidean bullshit is that?" You asked. The cold was seeping through your shorts.

"Hey, guys, someone just flew out of the ground!" A rotund child in a skeleton costume was climbing the horror-hill and pointing at you.

"It's probably just another zombie, Barrel." A girl in the most basic witch outfit you'd ever seen followed him up.

"No way," Laughed a boy in a devil mask as he came over the hill, "It's way too ugly to be a zombie."

"You're no prize either, kiddo." You struggled to your feet and eyed them. "Halloween was like a month ago and honestly your costumes aren't that great anyway."

Surprisingly, that seemed to stop them. Normally kids weren't susceptible to fashion criticism, but this lot were gaping. Their trance broke and they huddled together, whispering amongst themselves.

You frowned and tugged at your nylons. If you got a run in them with you were playing Alice down the rabbit hole back there you'd start screaming and never stop.

They turned back to you and started laughing.

"There a problem?" You squinted. This had Bad Situation written all over it.

"Lock," The skeleton, Barrel, giggled, "What do you think the townspeople are going to do when they see them?"

"Burn them alive in the town square, probably. We should roast marshmallow." Lock, the devil boy was leering you from behind his mask.

The witch snorted. "No way. Jack will want to take them apart them to see how they tick. Maybe he'll let the whole town watch while he opens them up."

"Oh, that's super funny. Haha." You were trying to back away, only to bump into Barrel. These knock-off Children of the Corn were probably planning to sacrifice you to their weird crop-demon.

"Actually, Shock, I know what's going to happen to them." Now Lock was definitely leering at you, leaning forward as far as you leaned back.

"What's going to happen? What's going to happen?" Barrel was giddy, cutting you off from one side while Shock blocked the other.

"Mr. Oogie Boogie is going to eat them alive." Lock took off his mask.

The kid was blue as a drowned man. He had the only literally crooked smile you had ever seen, jerking way too high on one side. His eyes were bright yellow and iris-less. He bared knife-like teeth at you. "Boo."

You screeched and jumped backwards, only to trip over Shock's outstretched leg. Instead of hitting the ground you your head met porcelain with a hollow 'thung'.

You came around moments later, but the world stayed dark. The air tasted stale and when you groped at your face the thick plastic bag over your head crinkled. You were on your back, legs hanging over a rim. Whatever you were in slid back and forth like a mechanical horse outside of a corner store. Tiny shoes dug into your stomach and cheek.

"Aye, fuck-o," You slurred, "Get off me."

The foot on your face dug its heel into your cheek.

"Do you think he'll share some with us? I've always wanted to try a human!" Barrel asked from somewhere around your knees.

"He'll have plenty left of from this one." Shock giggled and bounced on her feet on your stomach.

"Say that to my face." You snapped.

Lock laughed and it sounded like he was the one on your face. "You just want us to take that candy bag off, do you really think we're going to fall for that?"

"I mean, you guys are like what, eight?"

"We're older than you, human."

"We've just aged better than a hag like you." Rude, Shock.

"Talk to me once you invest in some decent conditioner."

She hmpfed and kicked her pointed toes into your guts.

Before you could accrue any more injuries, the ride slowed down. The kids scrambled off of you and, jeez, you were going to have bruises for weeks. Whatever you were in dropped you out like a dump truck. The bag over your head was removed with a tug that snatched chunk of hair.

The kids had apparently take you to a backwoods murder-shack. There were half done games of hangman all over the walls and oversized knives stuck out at easy grabbing height. Rotting support beams had a hundreds of miscellaneous nails that didn't hold anything up. A dirty clawfoot bathtub walked out from behind you. When was your last tetanus shot?

"Is this hell?" Between these corpse-y kids and the ache that permeated every inch of you it seemed like a real possibility.

"Nope!" Said Barrel brightly, "You're in Halloween Town!"

"But you're going to wish you weren't." Lock chuckled.

"There's no time to waste, you two. We need to hand them off to Oogie while they're still fresh." Declared Shock.

Without giving you time to protest they were on you again, pushing and shoving and prodding you with a pitchfork until you were backed into a corner of the room as if you were a bird that had gotten in the house. A fanged face was chalked on a metal tube sticking out of the wall like an alter. Even as they pushed you close to it they kept a respectful distance. There were dramatic candle arrangements.

"What are you kids? Mansons? Maranathas? Mormons?" How were you being overpowered by three six year olds? Their combined age couldn't even buy booze, and yet you couldn't even land a kick before they shoved you into the mouth of the beast.

Despite what spy movies would indicate, metal ducts weren't designed to transport humans. The walls were jagged, dirty, and segmented. You nearly cracked your skull when you hit a sudden bend after a steep drop. Still, you didn't stop sliding for another ten feet until you fell out and landed on you back on a round table.

You never imagined the afterlife would be decorated in black-lights.

You'd fallen into an Atlantic City casino gussied up for Halloween. The floor was a skull themed roulette wheel that dropped off into a shadowed abyss. The walls were impossible to see, apart from distorted playing cards that lit up in neon. Rusty hooks and bizarre torture devices with oversized skeletons inside hung from the ceiling.

"Fuck me."

"Well aren't you forward?" Asked an echoing voice.

Those silhouettes with the mouth and eyes cut out were just a result of artistic license in horror movies, but when you whipped around you saw one with your own eyes. The dark shape of your captor loomed over you. He was backlit by the light at the end of the tunnel you had fallen through.

"Allow me to introduce myself, sweetheart. I," He sauntered right up to you and trapped you between his arms and the spike-rimmed table you landed on. "Am the Oogie Boogieman."

Oh god.

"But I can't make heads or tails of you. What have those boys brought me tonight?"

You could not breathe.

"Why if I didn't know any better I would say you're a human. That'd put you a long ways from home, wouldn't it?" He grabbed you. "Well, whatever you are, you're dinner."

His mouth was a mass of insects climbing and curling and falling all over each other. Burlap skin glowed unearthly green and the mass of bugs crawling beneath made it roil like a stomach ache. At this distance you could hear the hiss of carapaces sliding against one another. He loomed over you, enormous and smelling like the inside of a fallen log. A glossily black millipede climbed from his eye socket to his mouth.

Twisting out of his handless grip you clambered over the spiked table. He grabbed you by your ankle, but you jerked and spilled back over the other edge as your converse came off in his hand.

"It's pointless to try and run, you're in my house tonight." Tossing your shoe over his shoulder the Boogieman's booming laughter echoed through the room. He grabbed a spike on the edge of the table and twirled it, sending the entire floor spinning. He walked against the flow towards you and only stopped after he was standing over you sprawled out form.

He poked you in the stomach with his pointed foot, hitting just Shock had been standing earlier. "That wasn't the worst escape anyone's ever tried on me. Better than most, even. Still, you're not going anywhere."

"Just call me Houdini." You gasped, trying to figure out what would happen if you threw yourself off of the edge of slowing floor. "Get it, because I'm an escape artist."

"I sure hope you're not as funny tasting as you act." He picked you up by the front of your shirt.

"You want to eat me?" He doesn't even know where you've been.

"What else could I do with a little human like you. Your kind isn't good for much." He set you back on the spiked table to look you over, but he was still twisting your shirt into some sort of noose. "I'm just not sure how I'll cook you yet. Roasted. Or baked, maybe? I could boil you alive. I am famous for my stews after all. So many options."

"May I suggest, just consider for a second:" You held a hand up and tried to think of something else to do together. "Don't eat me."

"You could, but that's not a very helpful suggestion."

There was no way you were going to beat what appeared to be one ton of bugs in a burlap sack in a fist fight. Frankly, you couldn't beat one hundred pounds of bugs in a fist fight. Bugs had way more arms than you which meant they had way more fists. Punching your way out was not a viable solution. You looked frantically around the room.

"Wait, let's make a bet!"

This stopped him. He raised an eyebrow ridge and let your shirt go.

You smiled brightly. "We can play cards! If you win I won't fight back. Why, I'll help you marinate me or whatever. If I win you let me go."

He tapped the area where his chin would be his chin. "Well, I really shouldn't play with my food."

"Let's play strip poker!"

There was a beat as he squinted at you, then he began to laugh hysterically. It took verging on three minutes for him to stop. "I guess it won't hurt to give you a chance to survive. I am a gambler at heart, after all."

He had no pupils so you couldn't really tell what he was looking at. It was unnerving. Still, you got the feeling the way he saw you was lecherous. You girded your metaphorical loins. This wasn't going to be the most sanitary thing you had ever done, but it would be worth it.

The Boogieman bent all wrong when he walked. Were there any boned it that weird hive of a body? He pried a crushing clamp open and pulled a deck of cards from the rib cage of the skeleton inside. He was able to shuffle the deck without any fingers to grip it. "I assume you know how to play poker?"

"The one where you get five cards, right? What's it called?"

He appeared to be wondering if you were some sort of idiot. "Five card draw."

He shoved you heels over head off the table. You landed in a red space. He popped the cards face down on both sides of the table.

You should probably check out a chiropractor when this was all over.

Your cradled your aching head. Your only experience with this game was playing against stoned kids in detention. Still, what did you have to lose. Other than your life?

Your cards were a pair of Kings and some miscellaneous low numbers. Pairs of anything was good and the higher the better. You rallied yourself.

Still, you should start slow. "I bet my other shoe."

"I can meet that." He motioned to where he had discarded you precious converse. "Check."

He did not need to draw any cards, but you swapped your three non-pairs. There were no noticeable improvements.

He showed his cards. "Three of twos, Houdini."

You tugged off your shoe and cradled it. These shoes had cost a month's worth of pay from you shitty summer job at the public pool. Their sacrifice would not be in vain. "Here."

He took it and threw it carelessly off to it's twin. "It's nice to have the matching set."

It had been. It was cold and slightly moist in this hell cave and now you couldn't actually walk anywhere without soaking the soles of your stockings.

You dealt next, but you luck did not improve. Eight high. Still, you squared your shoulders. "My shirt."

The Boogieman looked positively smug. "I'll check you with both your shoes."

"I can't wait to get them back." You were probably never getting them back. You exchanged your three lowest cards while he only changed one card.

With a laugh he showed off sixes and fives. "At this rate you're going to wish you agreed to be supper the first time. At least that way you'd still have your dignity."

The joke was on him, because you already planned on dropping that before the night was done. You stretched your back languorously as you tugged off your shirt. "You haven't stripped me of that yet, buddy."

"Just everything else." He chuckled.

Your next hand was a little better. A pair of tens was nice enough, even though the self-satisfied look on Oogie's face did not leave you feeling secure.

"I put up your shirt." He had set it to the side. At least it hadn't fallen over the ledge with your shoes.

"Check with my tank-top." It was in your best interest to lose the non-essential items of clothing before giving up the little things. You needed time to brace yourself. You had never even won at Spider Solitaire without using the hint button, but that wasn't what you were relying on.

"Draw." He didn't bother to.

On the positive, you got another ten. Three of tens was a good hand, flat out. Playing against anyone but the Walking Worm and you'd be happy about it. You fanned out your cards.

His grin was wider when he showed his. Nines and sixes, "Feel free to cry. The salt in your tears'll make great seasoning."

If he was waiting for you to cry he better not hold his collectives breaths. When you handed over your tank-top you dragged your hand over his curling burlap arm.

A pair of aces and pair of queens was a sweet break for you and you wished you had a better poker face, because you could feel a giggle bubbling up in your throat.

Oogie Boogie was less than thrilled. Given the fact that he only had two empty eye holes and a wide mouth to emote with, he deserved some credit for being so expressive. His sneer revealed a number of stinging ants.

"My pants for my shirt." You tried to remember what underwear you had on under your tights.

"Check." He growled.

His curled around himself as he switched cards and you resisted making a roly-poly jokes. Mostly because no good ones were coming to mind.

You held out your hand.

Instead of muttering unhappily and giving you your shirt back his grin stretched wide. "Six high flush. I'd advise you to start planning your next escape, Houdini."

"What?!" Did he seriously pretend to have a bad hand just to trick you. That arachnid asshole!

Well, actually that was literally how poker faces work and you were pretty silly to not see that coming. What, had you expected that this weird gambling monster wouldn't have basic the tenets of these types of games pretty well mastered?

That had not been your smartest moment

"Pony up."

This was not the time for anger. This called for action. You stood up and popped the button on your shorts. Wiggling them down your hips, you managed not to get tangled up in your clothes for once in your life. You made intense eye contact when you tossed your shorts onto the table.

He regarded you while he collected your shorts. "It's a shame this won't last much longer. It's been awhile since someone's been willing to keep going even when they know I'm going to win."

You settle back on the ground, shrugging. "I mean there's always the option of not eating me, then we could play again later."

The Boogieman hummed in response.

He was right though, you were running out of clothes to lose. You eyed yourself with your weak hand of cards and pouted when he grinned across the table at you.

"So do you want to give up now?" He seemed so damn smug, you wanted to reach across the table and throttle him.

"Six high." You lay down your cards. Standing up you dragged your palms up your hips to the waistband of your pantyhose. Tugging the hem with your thumbs, the filmy material slid across your thighs.

He had been leaning on the table, resting with his cheek in his palm. He wasn't even bothering to look at his cards, instead he was staring at the way you squirmed out of your clothes. He raised a hand. "Hold on, sweetheart."

You let go of your tights and they snapped back against your ass.

"Let me give you a hand with that."

Dear god, this plan of yours might actually work. Your heart raced.

You walked around the the spiked table with a swing to your hips. It's none too comfortable, but you reclined against. The Boogieman had no hands to lead anywhere, but you tugged his weird arms towards your waistband. "If you insist."

The burlap of his skin stuck on to your filmy stockings, but he doesn't seem bothered. He's practically salivating at the sight of you splayed out. The sound of crickets came from his vast chest and you wondered where they had all come from so late in the year. Back home they were all dead. Maybe they were zombies. He made no move to remove you tights as he rubbed the meaty part of your thighs.

"You know," He murmured over the chirp of crickets, He pulls one of your calves up until he's holding you at an extreme attitude. "I'm still going to eat you one way or another, but maybe we can work something out"

You're shivering. It was certainly from the cold. Leaning back, you half-mast your eyes. What would be a sexy thing to say? "There are a lot of ways to eat someone."

Killed it.

"Are you really willing to bet on that, sweetheart? I'm a known cheat. Maybe I'll just eat you up until there's nothing left but another skeleton for my traps."

True. That was a potential bad end for this situation.

Among the bodyparts the Boogieman lacked were lips, but he did a fine job grazing his burlap mouth over your raised leg. It chafed. He did not breath, but the air vibrated with lively buzzing. His whole body did, throbbing with insect life as rhythmic a heartbeat. The hollows of his eyes swam with shells that reflected blue-black in the flashing lights. The air around you was hot and humid and you had the oddest thought about the heat that radiated off compost heaps during high Summer. Sweat dripped down the back of your neck.

And then he stuck your foot in his mouth.

A good comparison to the situation was when they would submerge contestants in a big tank of roaches on Fear Factor. All at once there were a millions little pin skipping over every inch of you foot, encroaching up you leg. They twisted around you and got caught on the netting of your tights. It was like lightly running a boars bristle brush over your entire foot at once. It prickled.

You made eye contact with Oogie Boogie, who was clearly into it, then threw your head back in a pay-per-view moan.

Apparently this was what you were supposed to do, because he grinned around you and plunged the rest of your leg in up to the hip.

It was hard to move inside his mouth. The pressure from every side was crushing. It felt a bit like what being buried in quicksand must, down to the slight dampness that soaked your clothes and skin. You could feel the chirring nest of insects vibrating against you leg. Something spiralled around it and you tensed.

The Boogieman smile was a churning mass that shrouded everything up to your pubic mound. He dragged back down your leg and along with him went your gauzy tights. A snake lulled from his mouth, a rope of muscle contracting around your calf. He pulled off and his bizarre tongue held onto your tights. He swallowed them.

"I could strip the skin from your bones easy. Wouldn't take a minute."

"How about you stick with the clothes instead. You won them." Your panties had been halfway dragged down your legs with your tights so you kicked them off in his general direction.

He caught them with more dexterity than you had given him credit for. Burlap made the sensitive skin of your inner thighs itch when he touched them. He was going to give you fabric burn. "Not just your clothes."

To be quite honest, you had not actually expected to get as far as you had. Some sensible part of you had been gearing up for a painful death. The rest of you had been frantically trying to call upon any rock climbing knowledge you had from gym class so that you could Spider-man your way out of this hellpit. Plainly spoken, you did not know how to fuck a talking sack full of bugs. That was outside of your juris-dick-tion, as it were.

"Eat me." You opened your legs as wide as they would go. A pin in you hip says you needed to spend more time stretching. Hopefully he had a better idea than you did, or it was up the wall for you.

He did.

The Boogieman had a chuckle that made his entire body shudder as he reached down and pulled the thread that held his legs in one piece. It unravelled like a cartoon sweater and a chittering mass of bugs was revealed. What happened next could be best described with the phrase: "Wormcock."

Shellless, legless bugs crawled in orderly lines like blood through veins until they coalesced at a point between his legs. There were maggots and worms and unidentifiable grubs the color of condensed milk. They tangled together, piling into something that looked not quite like a phallus.

It made your stomach revolt, but heat spread lower than that.

His brow ridge raised like he was trying to call your bluff.

Screw the idea that you were fake.

You reached out and got a handful of that weird dick. If felt like a calf that had been stripped of skin, striated with muscles. Your fingers sunk in between the bugs.

"My, my, brave little thing, aren't you. You really do want to live." He pinched you face, but his laughter had transitioned into a low groan, "Keep it up and I just might let you."

No one in this arraignment was particularly sultry. You were about to get fucked by a dick that resembled ground chuck. Such was life, sometimes.

Your fingers felt uncomfortably clammy so you pulled back. He had to hold your twitching legs still. No going back now.

The phrase "ribbed for her pleasure." did not accurately describe the sensation when the Boogieman penetrated you. There was a certain amount of texture, but there was also a great deal of give. His dick compressed, jelly-like, then pulsed out to stretch you. You could feel the movements of a million worms and clenched compulsively.

The Boogieman had stuffed as much as the ever expanding mass of bugs would fit inside of you. "You seem nervous, just think of this like we're still playing a game. I might even let you win a round, babycakes."

You squirmed to get comfortable. You did not succeed. "Technically, we didn't even finish playing cards. This is sort of just the next leg in a triathlon. Biathlon?"

"If this is a triathlon something's coming next. Then again I try not to eat the things I've fucked. Mixing those up goes south, fast."

It sounded like semi-solidified cornstarch mix when he pulled out of you then pushed back in. Your thighs were already slick with viscous goop. You were going to pull a muscle in your hip with your legs stretched open as they were. "Yeah, people keep those to categories pretty far apart."

"Not around here they don't, sweetstuff." Say what you will about the distressing feelings related to this experience, but between the sheer volume of fluid and how yeilding he was you did not feel any pain. He pumped you like damn garden hose, but you body had no trouble accommodating. That was nice. "Why, it's near customary to take a bite out of your partner around these parts."

Hopefully he didn't plan to do that to you. He seemed to be having a right time. He didn't have to thrust so much as just let the bugs making up his cock sluice in and out similar to a very fast tide. He groaned, but it was almost like a speech affect. He was doing it on purpose, while the growing cacophony of insect noises were the real reactions. When you squeezed around him the buzzing made rendered whatever he said next inaudible.

You nodded anyway.

It would be difficult to tell whether the blurring of your vision was a result of the strange curling movements inside you or the lights that had not stopped strobing since you get here. It was a sensation sauna of humid bright heat that left you achey. You tried to gain leverage by digging your hands into the thick arms that still held your hips. Your fingernails caught in the thread.

The Boogieman had not stopped bragging? Amiably chatting? The entire time. Only have of it could be understood and you were fairly certain you heard something about you looking "good enough to eat" split on his dick the way you were. You rolled your eyes and it was not out of ecstasy.

This whole situation was silly and when you got home, and you damn well were going to after all this, you would have to remember to shove that nameless bitch down the death-hole to this place.

The pace was increasing and you threw yourself back onto the table just to take a proper breath that didn't taste like the inside of a hollow log. You twisted your eyes shut and tensed as there was a sudden uptick of wetness between your legs.

Propping yourself up on your elbows you considered the scene.

You're going to end up with a hell of a yeast infection. Monster spoodge was sticking thighs together. Oogie Boogie had sprawled over you like a very dense blanket. The lights had dimmed to a mellow glow.

"You don't play fair, you know that?" The Boogie Man looked blearily up at you. He actually looked more amused than anything else.

"You do what you got to do." And what you had to do was take a shower for three hours.

He stood back slowly. Goopy cum slid down your legs in globs. You shivered.

"I'm not that hungry anymore and a wager is a wager." The bugs were streaming back up to the rest of his body. They pulled his skin closed with a pucker. "I'm going to let you live."

You took a break from wiping off you inner thighs long enough to fist pump. "Bitchin'."

He lounged back against the against the edge of the spinning floor and yawned. The bugs in his mouth made quiet noises, but it was a little late for you to be afraid of them. "Take the elevator up and scurry your way home. Halloween town's not the best place for a little human to run around."

"Elevator?"

He reached behind one of the traps lining the walls and hit something. A bird cage big enough to fit several small children dropped from the ceiling. "Your chariot awaits."

"Can I have my shirt back?" You're nipples would get frostbite and fall off in this weather.

He sighed, but picked it up from where it hung over the side and tossed it to you. You put it on and felt a thousand times more secure.

You cannot fit in the cage so you hook your legs over it like a merry-go-round horse. You wave at Oogie Boogie. "See you never."

"You hope." He chuckles.

And away you go. The ride up is much slower than you frantic fall had been. You drift past the roots of a massive tree. You think you see something out of the fossil record on the cliff to the other side. A full moon shines almost as bright as the sun when you emerge.

"You're alive?" Barrel is hanging out the door of their clubhouse to look at you.

"I guess she was to ugly, even for the boss." Lock squinted at you.

"Hey, you little shits." You gently fell off the birdcagelevator onto the bridge connecting them to land. "Which way to that cemetery you picked me up at."

Lock jerked his thumb to the left, "Over there."

"Thanks." You straightend your shirt and set out on the path. Pausing, you glared over your shoulder, "If you're lying to me I'm going to come back and kick you ass. It's been a hell of a day so don't think I won't punch a kid."

The road you walked was winding and pebbles chewed you feet. Still, it's better than bullet ants and you keep that in perspective as you go. Tree branches shook in the wind as if they were flinching away from you. It's all as clear as day.

Graveyards are eerie even when there were nearly lit up with stage light bright stars. You nearly tripped over the spiral hill, but keep your balance. You arrived at the open grave that, memory served, you had come out of. If not you would just try the next one.

You crouched and hopped in.

Your landing on the way out of the hole was a lot worse the second time. Instead of tumbling onto forgiving grass you face planted onto a dirty marble floor. You were back at the mausoleum.

The sunlight streaming in through the open door made your eyes water as you looked up from your prone position. Apparently what's-her-face just left you for dead. Well, you had bigger concerns than that.

For instance, was the pharmacy open? Because you could really use some douche.

Because, seriously. Gross.

* * *

Author's Note: I said I was going to put this up last Christmas, then spent an entire year avoiding it. I'm not even sure if this counts as erotica or sensory horror anymore.


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